


painted blind

by IHadHimOnTheRopes (CarterReid)



Series: Þessa heims ok annars [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Clark Kent, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Misunderstandings, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarterReid/pseuds/IHadHimOnTheRopes
Summary: When Clark's mother sat him down one late winter's evening to explain just how different he really was, he realised that his soulmate most likely lay in the stardust haloed around what was once his planet. In the end, that was just another thing that told him he was alone.When he met Lois, he began to believe that maybe he wouldn't be alone, because she was perfect. She was everything he could ever want.Then Bruce Wayne said his words.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Series: Þessa heims ok annars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059707
Comments: 55
Kudos: 323





	1. day minus one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing from Bruce's perspective was so incredibly fun, Clark felt a little left out. So, I'm back. Scramble Pt. II, the other way. Clark's perspective. This may be terrible but hey, what'ya gonna do?
> 
> No beta this time so apologies in advance for the spelling. Also who knows how quickly this will be updated because COVID life is, frankly, a black hole of time and productivity. 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and sane. I have nothing but love to you all. 
> 
> Happy holidays,  
> -R.

Clark had been in the store for less than six minutes when the regret at not bringing his Ma turned from a pang to something stronger than gravity. His bones bowed to the sensation - a heady thing that lingered on his subconscious and left him more unmoored than those first few days he wore the suit, back when he was still naive and thought the desire to help, to _try_ and save, was enough for the world. 

He knew better than that now. 

The store had a hundred or more choices. All of them were beautiful, but all of them were wrong too. Too flashy, too understated, too colourful, too bland. Clark was in over his head, drowning in diamonds before the bright, wide smile of the sales assistant. 

She was so desperately human. A kind, eager soul clearly working on commission if the gentle, but unsubtle direction towards rings he couldn't afford was any indication. A part of Clark wished he could spend a little more, both for Lois and to give the woman a tip, because even with the steady commentary of words he didn't understand ( _pure, princess cut_ and _carat_ ) and the sharp tang of her sweaty palms overwhelming him, it was clear she was trying desperately not to lose the sale. She'd introduced herself as Rebecca and within a handful of moments, they're both crackling with a maelstrom of _confusion-hesitation-worry_ that began to feed off one another. He knew that were he able to sweat in the absence of Kryptonite, his palms would be slick and his hair plastered to his face. 

It wasn't the fanciest place in Metropolis, but it was classy. It was clean lines, hardwood floor that creaked underfoot and neutral colours. There were a few places to sit, but most stools were positioned beside the large glass cases brimming with jewels. Extravagant statement pieces flanked by smaller earrings, rings and bracelets made the room shimmer in the soft light. Even without his alien eyesight, the room would glitter. He'd only picked the store originally because it was close enough to the Planet to make it back in time but far enough away to ensure his anonymity. There was little doubt he'd be safe from the prying eyes of his colleagues and, more importantly, from Lois. The woman didn't know what Clark had planned, he was sure, and even though he hadn't decided when he'd follow through with the question, he's made his decision.

Falling in love with Lois had been easy. There was nothing particularly dramatic about the courtship of Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Adjoining cubicles and late nights chatting over sources and Chinese food had been the bedrock of his relationship. Lois of course, had had her head turned by Superman for months by the time Clark tentatively asked her out for a meal away from their desks for the first time. She'd refused but found him a day later and asked if the offer was still open. 

And so it began. 

She was upfront. Lois was a woman who knew where she stood and she went in with the expectation of commitment. She wasn't his soulmate and he wasn't hers but she didn't expect their relationship, should it grow beyond the cradle, to be dropped at the first sign of matching words. 

Clark agreed... before he knew that the words on her skin had long since greyed out.

 _Childhood accident_ , she'd explained once, not glancing up from the carrot she was dicing. _We were swimming, at the beach. He got pulled out to sea._ A shrug then, more laden with pain than perhaps she wanted to admit, but years had passed. It was still difficult, Clark could see that every time she mentioned him (which wasn't often at all), but she knew where she stood. She wanted to live a life of happiness, of _good_ , and the ghost of her dead soulmate wasn't going to stop her. It was an admirable sentiment and one that, in part, Clark shared. He doesn't want to hang around for the possibility of a happy-ever-after when he has Lois waiting at home. Of course, he'd always assumed his soulmate died with Krypton. But - 

But - 

**But** his words were still stark black. Still bright against his skin, alive and _vibrant_. Still _there_ , reminding him from behind invulnerable skin that there was someone, _somewhere_ , who would finally love him as Clark, _just_ Clark.

Someone who wasn't Lois.

But loving Lois was a founding stone on which he built his human experience. It was a selfish notion, he knew, but loving her was easy. She was everything he could ever want: strong, smart, beautiful, fierce and independent enough that she never became upset when he canceled date-night to help pull survivors from the rubble of cities after an earthquake. Lois Lane was a wonderful human being, he _knew_ , and more, she was perfect (and perfectly normal, too).

He felt like he deserved a little normal. 

Eventually, when her desire for the cape quietened and her interest in Clark had grown, the Man-Of-Steel told her the truth. She reacted well and sometimes, the dark parts of Clark questioned that. Although just thinking some of his thoughts often felt like a disservice to Lois. She **did** love Clark.

However, he knew she loved Superman too. Sometimes he wondered whether she loved the alien _more._ Particularly as she became curiouser about his soulmate _after_ he revealed his alter-ego.

"Maybe Kryptonians work differently," she'd murmured, once, three weeks after he'd sat her down and told her everything: his past, his world... and the words on his skin. He'd let her hands trace over his words, ignoring how the fingertips pressed just a touch too hard to be reverent, instead almost attempting to erase the sentence, attempting to claim it for her own. 

"Maybe," he'd replied, uncertain. 

There was a pause. "I wonder what you would have said to her," the woman had breathed finally, curiosity bleeding through her words, a finality in her tone that spoke volumes of her assumptions about the fate of Clark's other half. 

Clark had flinched, removing the roaming fingers from the edge of his words. There was an ugly, raging thingthat burned him to his core at the faint, lingering heat from where Lois had traced his words. "Does it matter?"

Lois glanced up. "No," she'd conceded, a frown forming between her eyes.

That had been two years ago and Clark hadn't given much thought to his soulmate since. 

~~Lie.~~

Rebecca paused, lips pursing together and letting a silence hang over that spoke enough to tell Clark that a decision was expected.

"She likes elegant," he offered, dredging up memories of Lois at black tie events for the paper, a string of pearls around her neck. "Elegant and simple," he elaborated, jerking his chin toward the nearest case and, within, a tray of rings. Rebecca nodded slowly, tilted her head to one side and finally pulled free three options.

The first was white gold. A simple band, clean lines with a single diamond set in the centre. 

The second was also white gold. It twisted itself around, like gnarled branches overlapping and clambering over one another. They tangled around a bright, blue stone which Clark assumed was a sapphire.

The third was gold. It was bright and shiny and, on second glance, looked like two rings stacked one-atop the other. There were a trinity of diamonds, one larger central stone and two smaller ones nestled besides. 

It took him only a moment, but it stretched out into an eternity. 

He could see himself slipping the ring onto Lois' finger, her face a picture of surprise. Clark reached out, a small voice reminding him to be careful, that one wrong move and he could crush the stone between his fingers. A thumb dragged across the velvet beneath. 

"That one, please ma'am," he said, gesturing to the first. Rebecca grinned, bright white teeth slightly stained by dark, red lipstick. Her hands moved quickly, clearly eager to finalise the sale before he changed his mind. 

"A wonderful choice, sir," she said brightly, pulling out a size guide and walking him through a lot of information he didn't really follow. It all began to blur, making way for a heady tattoo that had carved out space inside his skull:

_youboughtaring -_

_youboughtaring -_

_youboughtaring -_

"...our returns process is overleaf, sir," the woman added, quietly, bringing Clark back to the present. His face crumpled immediately into a frown - would Lois not like it?

Rebecca offered a kind smile. "It is rare, sir," she soothed, no nerves or fear, only kind reassurance, "however soulmates often have a way of throwing our plans into disarray." There was a degree of experience in her tone. It was a lost, empty thing and Clark could see the ache in her eyes.

 _Oh_.

He opened his mouth to apologise but the woman shook her head, a hand raising in a silent request for him not to speak. "I only ever wished for their happiness and I dare say they're happier than I could ever have made them." It was final. They were the last, well-rehearsed words of a woman well past accepting the pity in the eyes of strangers.

Clark nodded and handed over his card, accepting the returns information and tucking it out of sight, unable to truly quell the feeling of sadness at the woman’s predicament.

Fifteen minutes later, with a farewell nod, a small bag wrapped up in his coat pocket and his wallet still wincing, Clark stepped out of the store.

Metropolis, cloaked in sunlight and steel, greeted him. 

He took a moment to let the moment sink in - to feel the gravity in his bones, the warmth on his face... to enjoy the humanity of what he had just done. Then, without another second, he pulled free his phone and keyed in an all too familiar number. 

His Ma answered on the second ring. 

"Well?" she asked, all anticipation and eager excitement. Echoes of her initial reaction, a week previously, a shriek of delight and two minutes of sobbing about how _proud_ she was and how _happy_ she felt, reverberated inside his head.

Clark felt his face split into a wide smile as he huffed out a laugh. "I did it Ma," Clark beamed, "I just bought a ring."


	2. day zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support peeps, it means the world. 
> 
> Onwards, it is then.
> 
> All the love, stay safe, and hope you enjoy  
> -R.

It had been a quiet evening. 

Clark would be lying if he said that the decision to finally buy Lois a ring hadn't left him feeling light and airy. He'd flown back to Kansas that evening, to show his mother who'd spent far longer than necessary cooing over it, complimenting its beauty and simple elegance. It was a reaction that had soothed over the nervous part of his soul that had been so hesitant to take that final step. He'd left the ring with his Ma. It was still wrapped in velvet, as bright and shiny as it had been in the store, but now safely tucked away in the sock draw in his old room, away from Lois' prying eyes. 

_There wasn't a place in the apartment where he could hide **anything** , let alone something so important._

He'd brought back an apple crumble - something that was more difficult to keep in one piece than he'd first thought it would be - to cover his tracks. Lois didn't question Ma Kent demanding her alien child home so she could fill his stomach and send him back with sweet treats; it was hardly the first time she'd done so and it wouldn't be the last. Ma herself had been humoured at the white lie, likening herself to a character in a spy novel, much to Clark's amusement. 

"I'm becoming an old woman, Clark," she'd hummed, eyebrows raised and tone torn between giggling and chastising, "let me have a little excitement, alright?"

"Yes Ma," he'd replied dutifully, allowing her to embellish her imagined scene until it was more at home in a Bond film than the, admittedly unusual, normal of his life.

He was wrapping up an article for Perry, something relatively innocuous for a reporter of his caliber - Perry's words, not his - and was regretting not stealing the final slice of his mother's crumble to get him through it. Lois had already teased him about the upcoming late night with a grin. He had rolled his eyes at her laugh as she packed up her things at the timely manner of 5:45pm and swaggered over towards him, leaning over his desk in the bullpen and letting her face split into a smile. "We can't all be the favourite, Smallville," she'd chuckled, inching forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll order you some Chinese, don't worry. But I can't guarantee your pie will be safe," she tossed back over her shoulder as she wandered away. Jimmy Olsen, packing up for the night too, had overhead and laughed. 

"Ma Kent's?" he'd asked. Lois' smile only grew. "Damn lucky there Lois," he'd grinned, shaking his head, before pointing a finger towards Clark. "You better promise a piece next time CK."

Clark rolled his eyes. "I would Jimmy, if Lois didn't get there first."

Their laughter had rung in his ears long after they'd left the Planet, Lois beginning the walk to the nearest subway stop and Jimmy hailing a cab. He'd listened in as Lois finally reached her stop, arrived at their building, clambered up the stairs and let herself into the apartment before he finally turned his full attention back to the story. 

It was nights like this that made him envy Diana. Her own boss, she rarely trapped herself in offices three hours past the end of her work day.

Clark had just downed his third cup of coffee and was calling it a night when he heard the sound of screams, breaking glass and gunfire. 

He was moving before he registered it, his clothes - minus a couple of buttons - tucked into his bag, as he began flying straight towards the sound. There were men in masks, a handful only, but each armed to the teeth. Clark made out a Lion, Tiger, Bear, Fox and a Dog, letting his chest relax in relief. For a moment, he'd sworn it was the Royal Flush Gang - a group he did **not** have the time, nor inclination, to deal with this evening - particularly if they'd managed to improve what they had once described as 'luck-altering technology'. 

Sometimes Clark wished for the days when _he_ was the best example of the bizarre people could conjure up.

Judging from their equipment, and the loud-brash-overt technique, they were new to the criminal game. Clark could name on one hand the number of people who might risk a high stakes robbery in Metropolis without the assistance of advanced technology. They were, however, all brandishing automatic weapons and seemed more than willing to use them. They shouted loudly at the well-dressed hostages scattered about the room and, judging by the state of several noses, had cracked a handful in the face with their weaponry. Tiger and Bear stood guard at one end while the remaining three moved through the crowd, tearing jewellery from necks and wrists and hands, shouting about ransoms and demanding that their hostages call their accountants.

Half of the windows on the forty-fifth floor had been shot out and Clark could see blood smeared on several people where they'd been badly cut by the debris. A glance down saw the arrival of the police, their blue-red lights flickering off glass and steel. It was then that Clark lurched forward, intending to stop the affair in its tracks.

But a motion made him hesitate. His attention immediately turned to the Fox who had held the barrel of his gun to the head of an elderly woman in a red dress, demanding money. Understanding she was now the priority, the Kryptonian made to intercept, but he was beaten to it by a beautiful, black haired man in a sharp suit.

It took Clark a second to recognise Bruce Wayne without models on either arm and a vacant expression on his face. This Bruce Wayne seemed less out of his depth and more _furious_. He attempted to shove the Fox and move the woman away at the same time. He managed it with some success. While the elderly lady staggered free, the Lion, noticing the fracas, lunged forward. Clark couldn't be sure if the robber had also failed to recognise the Prince of Gotham or believed that, with the sheer number of hostages, one dead rich man wouldn't make that much difference, but he'd clearly decided that Wayne was better dead than alive. 

The Lion pivoted quickly, hands bunching in expensive material and pushed him with every ounce of his strength through an open window. Several screams split the room as Wayne pitched backwards and began his fall. 

Immediately Clark dove down.

One arm came up to wrap around the man's lower back, the other to Bruce's head to prevent his neck from snapping back as his decent was stopped. Wayne wasn't screaming, in fact he was much calmer than Clark thought normal, but his pulse was erratic. It was the heartbeat of a man who had accepted he was about to die. 

Something in Clark didn't like that. So he threw on his serious smile and said: "Don't worry, I've got you. You're safe; nothing's going to hurt you now."

Every muscle in Wayne's body locked at the sentence and something dumbstruck flickered across his features. He turned to look at Clark and the alien had the impression that the man was _really **looking**_. He felt suddenly naked, stripped bare and on display, a combination that immediately made his hackles raise.

"I know," Wayne replied after a moment, voice laced with disbelief and a hint of a laugh, "you've been reminding me that every day for thirty seven years." 

The bottom fell out of Clark's stomach. 

_His **words**_. 

His vibrant, alive, _impossible_ , **impossible _words_**.

Not a Kryptonian. 

A human. 

This human. 

Bruce. Wayne. 

" _No_ ," he breathed. 

_Oh god. Lois._

They were on the ground and Clark didn't remember floating down. There were still robbers to apprehend, people to save, but he couldn't shake himself awake. He was foggy, brimming with nothing more than mist, but weightier than a moon. He saw himself from a distance and immediately snatched back his hands fast enough that they blurred, suddenly aware that he was still **cradling** his _soulmate_. 

_His Soulmate._

This was wrong. 

~~_Was it?_ ~~

Clark yanked down **hard** on his composure, ignoring the rising _panic_ , and forced his tone to turn biting. "I'm sorry Mr Wayne," he continued, "but there must be a mistake."

There was a flicker of pain that rippled across Bruce's face. Something that made Clark's stomach writhe and his nerves chatter.

It looked small.

It looked _fragile_.

"Mistake?" he asked, voice quiet and hesitant. If Clark didn't know the kind of life Bruce Wayne led, one filled with parties and beautiful people and expensive wine and the thrill of the chase, he'd have even said the man was vulnerable. 

But -

Bruce Wayne wouldn't want a Kansas farm boy. 

Bruce Wayne would _ruin_ him. One too many drinks and Clark's secret identity would be there for all to see. _His Ma would be in danger_. 

"I'm Superman," he clarified, glancing first left and then right, shocked they hadn't yet been spotted. He could see police storming the building, running up the stairs, their sweat pooling inside heavy kevlar jackets. "I'm sorry," he stressed, knowing that drawing such a firm line beneath them was, for many, a cruel act. But it was necessary. "But I know what kind of person you are," he added.

 _You are **not** mine, _he thought violently.

"Kind of person?" Bruce echoed. There was something creeping into his tone that made Clark uneasy.

"I read the tabloids, Mr Wayne," Clark hissed. "I'm well aware of your _extra-curricular_ exploits and your... _disinterest_ in your company." He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling waves of anger begin to break over him. "I'm sorry," he said again, "but someone like that is **not** my...," he sucked in a breath, forcing the words out. "m-my Soulmate." He shook his head, refusing to look Bruce in the eye. Refusing to accept that _this_ was his person.

That Lois wasn't.

 _I did need that returns policy._ The thought bounced around his brain. 

~~He could pretend.~~

He couldn't. 

This was too big. This was too much. He couldn't leave Lois - _he'd promised_ \- but what...?

How could the man who never looked past himself be _his?_

"This is clearly some sort of cosmic joke... or punishment," he muttered under his breath, hands curling into fists.

He clearly wasn't quiet enough however because Bruce Wayne suddenly stood a little straighter, back an unyielding line more familiar on an army general than a billionaire. It was unnerving to watch, as was the _rage_ that bled into the man's gaze. 

"Maybe," he said, tone rivalling the fortress for iciness. "But at least I'm not cruel." And without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and strode away.

Clark watched him go and stamped down on the little voice inside him that encouraged him to follow. Instead he cast his gaze skywards and shot up, bursting through an open window, finally relieving the masked gang of their weapons. When, a few moments later, he'd stepped between an officer (who had just come bursting through the door) and a bullet (from a concealed handgun tucked into Dog's waistband) the hostages had all clapped like their pilot had landed the aircraft rather than been rescued from possible death. They'd clapped again when each member of the group was cuffed by the now heavy police presence. Steadily, paramedics appeared, immediately tending to those bleeding or in the deepest throws of shock with efficiency, directing them downstairs to awaiting ambulances. There was no request for information about Wayne, no mention that he was waiting below - 

There was no mention of Wayne at all.

"Thank you Superman," a nearby officer said with a smile as the hostages began to filter out. She dropped her voice. "That might have been a lot worse."

"Always happy to help," Clark replied, injecting as much breeziness as he could into his tone. Judging from the look on the officer's face, it hadn't worked that well, but Metropolis police were too polite to question his mood or why he seemed distracted. 

It was an hour before Clark finally freed himself, returned to the Planet for his belongings and stumbled home, but it felt like a series of flashbulb moments. And each were stained by the backdrop of Bruce Wayne's expressions, both at the moment Clark said his words: a hopeful, awed thing, and after he had denied their importance: rage and desperate vulnerability. 

He choked on a laugh when he realised he couldn't even remember what he'd said when he caught Wayne and wondered how his mother's predictions for the other half of his heart had been so wrong. 

The news was on in background when he kicked the door shut behind him, dropping his bag on the table and toeing off his shoes. Lois looked up from her place on the sofa, dressed in comfy sweats, a glass of wine in one hand and a pen behind her ear. Clark was struck by just how beautiful she was. 

And how he finally had the _proof_ that she wasn't his.

"Eventful night," she grinned, jerking her head to the coverage as it interviewed a handful of Metropolis and Gotham's who's-who, none of whom Clark recognised. 

He still flinched. 

Lois frowned but the reporter was already waving her away. "I need a shower," he croaked as an excuse, disappearing into the bathroom before she could question him further. It was a cowards way out, he knew. 

But perhaps he was a coward. 

The water pressure was poor, the temperature lukewarm, but luckily, the shower was just loud enough to cover the sound of him slumping to the tiles and sobbing into his hands.


	3. day three

For all his secrets, Clark had never quite managed _subtle._

It wasn't because he was obvious (he's kept his secret long enough), but his Ma raised him to be honest (as honest as he could be). It meant that while Jimmy Olsen might not see, nor might Perry White, those who knew him, who _truly_ knew him, and **loved** him - cape and all - could read unease in the shift of his shoulders, hesitance in the wringing of his hands and fear in the lines beneath his eyes.

In the end, it took Lois seventy-two hours. 

He'd been drifting. Moving through the spaces of his life as though unmoored from his reality. He was adrift, cast out and from his place out to sea, Clark couldn't quite see the shore. His love for Lois had always been a harbour in his alienness, a safe docking in which to return to when life became maddening or exorbitant, but had become lost from sight the moment storm-shaped Bruce Wayne opened his mouth. Clark was a void, carved open and cut down to the bone. He didn't know where to turn and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take that all important step forward, past Wayne and what Wayne represented. 

He was stood in the kitchen, three days after _him_ , absentmindedly stirring the pasta simmering in the pot, when a kiss was pressed to the skin beneath his ear. He flinched, not expecting the contact and that, it seemed, told Lois all she needed to know. 

"Clark," she murmured, hand curling around his bicep. 

"Hi," he replied, softening his stance, letting the tension in his frame bleed out as much as he could. 

The journalist paused. "Is everything okay?" 

There were several questions there. A question about _him,_ about _work,_ about **_them_**. 

Clark always prided himself on not running from problems. Avoidance wasn't healthy and, well, he was brave, he knows that - and his Ma's told him enough times. But at that moment, in a pokey Metropolis kitchen, his pasta boiling over, his partner curling herself around his back, he felt fearful. He felt afraid of what he could say, what his words might mean, what his life would look like in the absence of Lois and Lois' love.

"Fine," he murmured, smile not quite reaching his eyes. Lois frowned, lips pursing. 

"Sure?"

"Yep." Another half-hearted stir, boiling water splashing up his hand.

She hesitated, reaching past him for the wine and pouring herself a generous glass. She was clearly weighing her words the way she did with a source - trying to find the right question, one that wouldn't spook him and would give her the answer she was looking for. "Is this an alien thing?" she asked after a moment, blunter than he expected, and inadvertently providing Clark a scapegoat he didn't know he wanted. 

Clark let himself pause. "In a way," he agreed. It was only half a lie, but the words still felt bitter.

It was a sin of omission, coated in ash.

In truth, from the moment he'd laid his hands on Bruce Wayne, his words had burned beneath his shirt, angry and dark and _eager_. His body was demanding he find the other half of his soul and it was so loud that Clark, for the first time in years, found himself struggling to breath beneath a yellow sun and an oxygen rich atmosphere. Kryptonians, it seemed, were _physical_ in their connection. It was a tangible connection, a thick, rich thing that he felt he could reach out and wrap around his fingers. There was an itch he couldn't scratch too, an unease burrowed beneath his skin and he'd chattered, dancing on the edge of sanity for every hour he'd been away from Wayne. It _was_ an alien thing, **it was**. Only Lois didn't need to know that the exoplanetary itch stemmed from words branded like a claim across his side.

Lois swilled her glass. "A big way?" she pressed, ever the reporter. "A big enough way to head _north_?"

Clark froze. He hadn't considered the fortress, nor Jor-El. It seemed an overstep, an overreaction, but coming from Lois, it makes sense. Perhaps his father could shed some light on how to make it all stop -

Or at least lower the volume. 

"It might be," he conceded after a moment.

"Okay Smallville," she hummed, taking a sip. "Well I'm not going to pry but you've been off for a few days now, so maybe that _might_ is actually a _yes_." She turned away, retreating to the couch, flicking the TV station over to a different channel and letting the matter rest.

For the moment.

Clark spent the rest of the evening in a daze, dishing up pasta and eating mechanically. Another evening trapped in the confines of his thoughts.

When Lois readied herself for bed, he hesitated, instead pulling on the suit and looking at the sky. The woman chuckled from behind him, taking a hand and pushing up onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Try not to fly into any geese, hot-shot," she grinned, accepting the half-hearted huff of laughter he offered in response, before letting him clamber through the open window and soar _up_.

The world was a patchwork of colour below him. Blacks and shining lights stitched together with the brown of brick, the green of trees, the silver skin of his cityscape - he saw it all. He saw the single mother bouncing her baby on her hip, he saw a teenager studying, a boy practicing ballet by candlelight, two lovers curled around once another - new to the embrace, eager but nervous - and he saw the withered hands of the blind man nine blocks over dancing over piano keys, spinning sounds smoother than silk. His city hummed, low and contented in the balmy evening. 

He climbed higher. 

Higher until clouds wrapped around his shoulders, wisps thin and wet and clutching at him with cottoned fingers. Higher until he saw the sunlight skip over the sky like a rock off a pond. Higher until the stars were so brilliant and bright they _blinded_ him. Higher until the space station circled nearby, astronauts carrying out their duties with such focus and diligence, glancing up and offering a surprised smile when he drifted just close enough to catch their attention. 

_"It's Superman_ ," one said in accented English.

" _Please tell me he's on a pizza run_ ," an American replied, smile split wide and laugher falling from his lips. 

" ** _That_** _would be something to tell_ _Houston_ ," another chimed in, edging closer and waving. Clark waved back before tipping his face towards the sun. She greeted him kindly and he breathed in the strength from her gaze before falling backwards and plummeting through the atmosphere, punching into Arctic airspace and _down, down, **down** _until the polar desert greeted him with bright white snow gleaming under the glare of a brilliant moon.

If he truly felt the cold, he might have said the air was bitter, biting, _unyielding_ , but instead it was fresh and clean, soothing on his newly formed jagged edges.

The Fortress winked at him from across the wasteland, a maze of crystal and Kryptonian surplus towering over the nothingness surrounding it. A lost place born of a lost world. Clark had long since accepted that he would never truly understand the depth and complexity of the technology contained within when, after three long hours, Jor-El had still not managed to sufficiently explain to his son how the Fortress remained undetected. 

" _Humans have satellites, dozens of them, and they have mapped nearly every inch on the planet. How can they **not** see_ **_this_**?"

A long, suffering sigh and one more " _My son_ ," and Clark raised a hand, conceding understanding for accepting that, simply, if Jor-El said the Fortress was capable of something then, in short, it was.

The snow crunched underfoot as he landed before the towering golden door, engraved with Kryptonian symbols and adorned with images of his home-world. When Clark had first seen it, he'd been nothing but intimidated. Now, it brought him a sense of comfort. A glimpse into the past, into _his_ past. There was no key-hole - Jor-El had insisted there were better ways to protect the Fortress than a simple lock - instead the door simply opened as he approached, recognising him as the last son of Krypton. Yet more technology he conceded any understanding of.

"Welcome, Kal-El," a voice boomed as he entered, the doors clanging shut behind him. His father's visage appeared, immortalised in the relatively youthful form he'd held at his death. 

"Hello father," Clark replied, letting his shoulder's sag and shuffling deeper into the Fortress.

"You seem unsettled my son," the hologram continued as his hide-a-way continued to surge into life at his presence. Crystals shone a little brighter, the computer blinked into existence and the globe of Krypton glowing a soft but ethereal gold. 

"I am," Clark confessed, sitting himself down on the nearest seat and taking in a steading breath, steeling himself. "I wanted to ask you about words."

Jor-El's visage narrowed his eyes sharply. "You have not asked of such a thing before."

"I know."

"When I offered you this knowledge, you refused it," he continued.

"I know," Clark breathed. "I was..." he trailed off. _Afraid._ "I always thought it better not to know." 

_"Some things are not for us to know before we're ready, Clark_ ," his Ma had said once bleak Wednesday, his second year in college, when he'd been disillusioned with the world and hesitant about whether he even wanted to embrace his alien heritage. He'd taken the sentiment to heart.

"It was a decision I have never fully understood, yet respected nevertheless," the hologram added.

"I know," Clark echoed again. "But things -" _they're different now -_ "I'm ready now." He took in a breath. "You know I have words, father."

Jor-El's visage nodded, pensive. "Yes. A rare occurrence amongst Kryptonians, but not something unheard of within our culture. Many saw words as a regression, a remnant of a time when we were not ruled by logic and science, but by passion and savagery. Others believed words to be a gift from Rao, to connect us with truth and enlightenment - the other half of our hearts. However such faith in words was frowned upon by the Elders. Deviation from science was not encouraged, Kal and people who pursued their words were considered to defy logic. Our partners, our jobs, our health, even the destiny of our children, were all decided by science - words opposed this."

"Words created physical responses too?" Clark pressed. 

"In some subjects, individuals expressed pain in separation as well as an _urge_ to find their partner. At a time when words were most prevalent, our people sailed the stars. We had colonised many worlds, Kal, and lived on many others. It was these cultures, _worded cultures_ , that had resulted in brands on our own people. Two Kryptonians do not share words. All instances of claimed Kryptonians were between one of our people and one from a worded culture."

"Like humans."

"Yes Kal, like humans."

Clark shuffled his feet, feeling small and childish. "And can you ignore it?"

"Ignore it?" Jor-El's expression was unreadable. 

"Did worded Kryptonians ignore their soulmates?" he asked instead.

"No," Jor-El replied. "Those who had been claimed but unmet often found themselves looking to the stars, unfulfilled and yearning. Often the Council deemed them a poor match and so they were not paired. Several bloodlines ended as a result. Only one instance exists of a worded Kryptonian being placed in a partnership and of their genetic material being added to a birthing matrix with another. The result was unfavourable."

"Unfavourable?"

"Latterly, children born of a birthing matrix were often created with genes that bound them to Krypton - in short, to leave was to die. It was an attempt by our government to maintain focus on our own planet, rather than the worlds that lay beyond the farthest stars. A foolhardy and isolationist policy that, ultimately, led to our downfall. Unfortunately, in the case of the child, they died shortly after they took their first few unassisted breaths."

"How?"

"The child's father was only half of himself. His other half lay out in the stars. A child born of the stars cannot live bound to a planet, Kal," the tone was soft but there was a lesson there. A lesson that his father wanted him to learn without it being spelt out for him. 

There was a long silence. "I found mine," he eventually confessed.

Jor-El's consciousness chuckled. "I had deduced that much." A pause. "Congratulations."

"I love Lois," Clark returned sharply, noting how the warmth of his father's good wishes was a knife between his ribs. "I _love_ her. I bought a **ring**."

Jor-El frowned. "You can love this _Lois_ , Kal while you love, and live with, your worded one."

"No," Clark said, lurching to his feet. "Not like that. No. I love Lois the way you loved my mother. I couldn't - _ever_ \- love **him** like, like _that..._ "

"Do you?" Jor-El asked.

"Excuse me?" the Man-of-Steel asked, ceasing his pacing.

"Do you love her like that? Your Lois?"

"How -"

"I don't ask to be cruel Kal. But in all records of our history, not a single one of our people has ever rejected their... _soulmate_ once finding them."

A pregnant pause followed.

"Why not?" his voice was quiet, unsure, near broken.

Jor-El smiled, soft and understated, looking more like a _father_ and less an echo than he had in years. "Who would deny themselves that which makes them whole?"

"Who indeed?" Clark mumbled before raising his gaze to meet the ghost of his father's. "Will it kill me?"

"To live apart?"

"Yes."

"No. You will not suffer such cruelty. But texts speak of a yearning. Your body will demand what your soul wants - that you be near them, that you learn of them, that you love them. You will find yourself listening for their heart, looking for their face in a crowd. You will not truly be at peace without them, my son."

"But if I can ignore it -"

"A course of action I do not recommend," Jor-El interrupted. "But I cannot tell you how to live, my son." He frowned, tone softening. "If you truly believe that this _Lois_ is the human with whom you will share the rest of your days then who am I to tell you otherwise. However, a man knows his own heart. I recommend, my son, that you listen closely to yours."

A small smile and a nod of the head and Jor-El's visage flashed out of sight, leaving Clark alone.

Alone and more confused than ever.

A sharp ache in a side had Clark pressing a hand to his words, willing the sensation away - 

Willing them to read: " _Just Lois is fine. It's nice to meet you_ _Clark_." 

But they didn't, and they wouldn't ever, and Clark would be forced to look upon words that he now knew belonged to Bruce Wayne until his dying days.

"I love Lois," he said to the Arctic air.

And he did.

And that would be enough.

He'd make it enough.

" _You're as fine as frog's hair Clark, but by God, as stubborn as a mule_ ," his Pa had said once, shaking off the sweat of a late June evening and drinking Ma's sweet tea. They'd laughed together, the echoes of their argument gone in an instant at the sentiment, and the words returned to Clark in the cold white of the Fortress. 

He moved steadily, watching as the crystals fell dim, the globe dulled and the lights flickered out the closer he got to the door.

His journey home was quick. A crack of the sound barrier somewhere high in Canadian airspace and he found himself climbing through an open window, detoured only by an attempted mugging and, much to his amusement, a cat in a tree. 

Lois was sleeping when he crept into their bedroom, but stirred when he lifted the covers and slipped in beside her. 

"Hey Smallville," she mumbled sleepily. "All good?"

Clark huffed out a breath. "All sorted," he replied quietly, voice not quite as steady as he'd hoped.

Lois cracked open an eye and pinned him in place. "Anything I need to worry about?" she asked softly, a half-smile on her lips.

"No," Clark breathed, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his face into her neck. "It's all finished with now," he said into her hair. 

"All done?" Lois hummed, patting his arm. 

"Yeah," Clark echoed, swallowing down the hollow pit that opened in his stomach. "Everything's back to normal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for any errors. lack of sleep + no beta = crap writing ha.  
> love to you all,  
> -R.


	4. day one hundred and forty three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #aninterlude
> 
> happy heart day. 
> 
> love to you all,  
> -R.

Clark had been having coffee with Diana twice a month for just under a year the day she announced she was moving Stateside.

Their initial meeting had been accidental.

Diana herself had said it was _Fate_ with enough inflection to suggest that she believed the entity to be a person. Perhaps Fate was. Perhaps Diana had met them, Clark had never asked.

It had been in a terrorist incident in Paris. Hostages were taken and their voices had rung out, desperate and _young_. It had taken only minutes for Clark to deposit the skiers buried in an Austrian avalanche with the emergency services and turn his attention to the city-of-love, but minutes that were long enough to draw the gaze of another.

 _Wonder Woman_.

The Kryptonian had been surprised at first - it wasn't often he was surprised - but the shock made way for an easy partnership. They'd been effective, efficient even, in their approach, dismantling the group, snapping their guns, deflecting bullets and taking the brunt of one nasty, incendiary device laced with enough boobytraps to make his head spin. When the people wrapped in Semtex had been freed and herded into ambulances, and the criminals intent on running off with duffle bags brimming with bearer bonds, had been shepherded into police cars, they'd gone for lunch. A lunch where Clark had been so relieved to find another super powered person, he'd practically blurt out his secret identity over a hazelnut latte and a _pain au chocolat_. 

It seemed, however, that the relief at having someone who knew what it was like to move faster than sound and fracture steel in a moment of complacency, was not one-sided. Having lived for _so long_ , and for almost all of it, hidden away from humanity, Diana was unsure of just how to step out into the light. Not to mention how the people would react to her. She was a relative unknown - an Amazonian Princess, daughter of an Old God, the closest thing to an _immortal_ humans had ever seen - and people, while generous with their affections for Clark, hadn't always been so accommodating.

And so began their friendship. A friendship that quickly led to Lois calling Diana his 'work wife', with all her typical humour (although an undercurrent of insecurity had taken Clark by surprise - _surely Lois trusted him?_ ).

Diana knew of his fears, of his mother's home in Kansas, of his Pa's heart attack a handful of years previously, of his father's ghost in a dead city deep in the Arctic Circle. She knew how he took his coffee, his pretend allergy to apricot, his love of space, his _name_ , his relationship with Lois - 

_not about **him** though, never about_ **_him_** _-_

and that sometimes, the world was too big.

In turn, she imparted a wealth of stories. Histories of times long buried woven in the rise and fall of empires long lost from memory. She told him about Gods who used to walk the earth, about how humans took their place. She told him about her words, and the man who owned them, who lay - at peace - in a cemetery in England after fifty-six quiet and clandestine years with her. She confessed to feeling lost, feeling like half of herself, feeling as though she didn't deserve to call herself a warrior when she had walked away from the fight.

In short, it was a friendship that had raised anxieties Clark hadn't realised he'd had and settled them just as quickly.

They were perched, incognito, in _Monsieur Bleu_ , a restaurant with square lights and modern decor that overlooked the Seine and the Eiffel Tower beyond. It was close enough to the _Guimet_ that Diana didn't require powers to get there, nice enough to satisfy her love of french cuisine and well versed with tourists to overlook Clark's blatant American-ness. He wondered what they thought of him - regular enough to be recognised but foreign enough to be _irregular_. Regular work trips, perhaps, although the scuff on his shoes and his love of plaid didn't lend to the appearance of money. 

Diana been working at the MNAAG on their Greek collection for a couple of years she'd told Clark with some amusement.

"Man's approach to religion and culture is fascinating. Particularly the modern dismissal of the _Gods_ ," she shook her head. "There were dozens of statues to Zeus and the tourists call such dedication _primitive_ and _inconclusive_ of his presence."

But despite her love of Paris and the work she did, Europe no longer held her heart.

"My love is buried in London," she confessed, three months into their rendezvousing. "And Europe is a little dimmer without him."

She'd been privately considering a relocation west for a handful of weeks before making her final decision. 

"It will be big change," she'd said after they'd been seated and had ordered, answering the question on Clark's lips, "as I do find myself settled here."

"Some people strive for settled."

"Yes," Diana smiled, "although you and I are not quite the _settling_ type, are we? Our desire to change destinies is proof of that."

Clark frowned a little. "I suppose."

"I still have three weeks left with the museum," she continued. "Although they've already asked me if I would stay longer." A sigh slipped through her lips and she looked out to the Eiffel Tower. "I'll miss the views." She paused before glancing to the left. "And I'll definitely miss the food," she offered with a wry smile as her plate was placed in front of her.

" _Saumon fumé d'Ecosse, Madame._ " 

" _Merci beaucoup,_ " she offered, allowing Clark to smile clumsily in place of French when the waiter placed his salad before him.

"I'll miss the visits," Clark replied, chasing the lettuce around his plate with his fork.

"Paris is always open to us," Diana laughed.

Clark grinned. "Any particular reason for the move," he asked before pausing, eyes going wide, "not that it won't be great not having to break the sound barrier to visit."

The Amazonian huffed out a laugh before growing quiet. "Steve wouldn't want me wallowing," she hummed, almost to herself, something sad and private on her features. "And I am here. I need people like me," she cast her gaze back towards him. "Like us. Steve always said I needed _friends_."

"My Ma says the same."

They laughed. "Thank you," Diana eventually offered.

"Not sure how I helped, but I'm glad I did."

"Sometimes I forget that places are not Themyscira. That my people are not all on a single island," she said softly. "I am thankful you helped remind me I have friends beyond the borders of a lost country."

Clark nodded and grinned, turning back to his food, greener and neater than any food he could put on a plate himself.

"You know," she began after they'd been quiet for a handful of minutes. "I heard another rumour of the Atlantean."

Clark blinked, surprised by the change in conversation. "Atlantean?" Diana hummed in acknowledgment. "I still can't believe there's _more_ ," he added.

The Princess laughed. "There's a universe of _more_ Clark." She took a sip of sparkling water before continuing. "He capsized four illegal whaling boats off the coast of Norway. Left the crew tied up with their own nets on the shore, their manifest stapled to their waders."

"He's getting bolder," Clark murmured, "the _Aquaman_." He paused. "You sound concerned."

"I am."

There was something serious in the Amazonian's countenance. A hesitance, perhaps, but something determined too. A woman prepared to step in if things went too far. Clark didn't quite share her intensity but, then again, he had no experience of Atlantis and, until meeting Diana, he'd thought it something Disney animated from myth and legend. 

"Are you considering intervening?"

"I think we may have too," she huffed. "If his attacks on humans continue that is. Who else will be able to keep him in check?" she questioned, pensive, eyebrows drawing together neatly. "He's one to watch."

"He's not alone, Diana." He didn't want to sound alarmist, but on his own personal list of super-powered people, the Aquaman wasn't particularly high-up. "Extra-ordinary people are dime-a-dozen now."

"You speak of the Speedster, from your City."

"Central City," Clark corrected. "The Flash, yes. He's been active for eighteen months. He may even be faster than me."

"He is one of them _._ The _Metas_."

"It's not just the _Metas_. Lois has been working on a story. A story about a man who is half machine. There's been a few sightings but its all mostly rumour. A journalist called him 'Cyborg' and the name stuck."

"Cybernetic enhancement is dangerous technology. Can he be trusted?"

"He's completely unknown. Lois found nothing concrete and there isn't a digital footprint, no identity at all. Which would make sense if the man was part computer."

"I don't think man could have achieved such a feat, so soon, without help."

"You suspect alien technology?"

"I don't know," she breathed. Diana's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. Clearly she'd not been expecting that revelation of _more_ super-powered people and when she set down her knife and fork to pay complete attention to Clark, the journalist knew she was intrigued. "Perhaps we should find out? It is better to know who your enemies are before the battle begins."

"Maybe," Clark conceded, ignoring the writhing pit in his stomach of going to war with strangers simply because he wasn't sure if they could be trusted. "I think the Flash is a friend. He's been doing nothing but good in Central City. A few mistakes early on, but we've all had those."

"Indeed," Diana agreed, gaze suddenly far away.

"Then what would you suggest? We can't keep watch on them forever."

The low chattering around him, a constant background noise faded the moment the Amazonian said her next sentence: "If they are like us, if they believe in what we do, then perhaps they should be _with_ us."

His brain stalled. "You're suggesting a team."

"There may come a time when I'm not enough -"

"Then I suppose that's where I come in."

"When _we_ are not enough," she corrected. "Clark, our duty to the people is to protect them. From themselves if necessary but from other threats too. And if these people are not threats, they could help defend against those that are. There are legends that speak of enemies from other worlds, from hell-scapes beyond this universe, where it took scores of Amazonians, Atlanteans and Men to finally fell them. In those cases we would not be enough. In those cases, we should know if the Atlantean, the _Flash_ and the _Cyborg_ would stand with our enemies, or with our alliance." She spread her palms flat on the table. "The worlds are filled with _more_ ," she echoed. "Perhaps this is our time to be more too. It has been many centuries since Amazonians and Atlantians fought side by side, but we did once. We could do so again. And, if not, then at least we know our enemy better."

"Checks and balances," he murmured, letting himself, perhaps for the first time, entertain the very real possibility of making something _bigger_ than just him. "It'd make one hell of a team," the Kryptonian mused. "If they'd ever want to be one. If they even want to be _found_."

"We will have to see." The Princess turned and her profile was illuminate by sunlight and the soft glow of a nearby lamp. It wasn't difficult to see why heads turned whenever she entered a room. "There is one we would need," she added, eyes unmoving from their place on the river where boats drifted past, filled with tourists waving cameras and wearing _I-heart-Paris_ t-shirts. "One who would not appreciate us. One who would not want to be found."

"Another _Meta_?"

"No," she breathed. "A man. A soldier." A small, wry smile. "A Knight."

The Kryptonian deflated. "Ah."

"If there is any soldier who has fought in the trenches of men longer than anyone, it is the Knight of Gotham City."

"He's a bit... _much_ , don't you think?"

"He's a warrior of man, aren't they all?" she huffed, finally turning back to meet his gaze. "He is my price. If we are to approach these people with an alliance, if we are to forge a team, then I want the Batman."

"Why?" Clark didn't try to hide his surprise. "He's not exactly the poster-boy for control or restraint... or human rights."

"He's a man in a city of monsters, Kal," Diana replied softly. "And because a union of heroes should have a representative of man...particularly if man is to trust that we will defend them." Diana's smile was kind, gentle, even patient, but her eyes were old. They were the eyes of someone who had seen horrors and had forged herself anew from steel blades and blood-soaked dirt into something as impassible as a mountain. "He is a champion of men. He is their only champion. The Bat must be with us if this is to work."

"Sounds as though you'd want him on side?" 

"You would risk him not being?" Diana retorted, eyebrow quirked high and a smile on her lips.

"Alright," he conceded after a few moments, shoulders dropping slightly. "You'll take the Atlantean then?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll head North before I leave for America. If the activities of the fishermen are any indication, it shouldn't be too difficult to locate him. And if you send me Lois' research on the Cyborg, I might be able to make inroads there too."

"Which leaves me with the Flash and, if he'll let me within twenty miles of Gotham to _talk_ , then the Bat." The alien didn't hide his displeasure. 

"A formidable force," she mused as she slid her knife through the last piece of her salmon.

"That's one way to describe it."

"And what would you call it?"

Clark grinned. "Me being way out of my League."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for errors. no beta be like *shrug*  
> -R.


	5. day two hundred and ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any spelling / errors / mistakes.  
> Rights where they go, of course.  
> Stay safe, stay sane, stay kind.  
> Love to you all,  
> -R.

It was only when _Jimmy_ made an offhand comment about his " _new-found Bat_ _obsession_ " that Clark realised things might have gone a little too far. 

His first clue, looking back, was his desk.

Clark was a tidy person. Paper was always neat and orderly, all corners atop of one another to form a single, indistinguishable stack. Stacks were framed by post it notes lined up in a row - often colour coordinated with a key tucked just out of sight - and there was always enough space for him to transition from his laptop to pen and paper should he desire it.

The day Jimmy had sidled up with a whistle and remarked, voice full of humour and disbelief, that he'd " _really gone in at the deep end on this one, Clark_ ", his workspace had undergone a vast and thorough change.

Newspaper clippings, pinned up on a hastily erected cork-board, were joined by multiple strands of different coloured string like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. Post it notes with half-thought-out sentences too incoherent to be explained away by an absence of sleep and caffeine littered the floor and the screen of his monitor. A stack of pulled documents from various Gotham entities including their police department, office for planning and architecture, the housing administration and the DA's office, were precariously balanced and dangerously close to teetering into the overflowing bin pushed out of sight below. Five pens, with their lids and ends chewed into a mangled mess of plastic and ink, had been jabbed, alongside two broken pencils, into a wad of Blu-tack on one side of his desk. Then there was the spilt jar of thumbtacks, the open pack of rainbow NERDS and the three empty mugs.

It was carnage.

In his desperate attempts to avoid talking to the Gotham vigilante, Clark had instead pulled every file he could, dug deeper into every case available and read everything ever printed about the Bat.

He'd told Perry it was for a story (a lie he knew he'd regret when the man eventually asked for the article).

He'd told Diana after she'd raised her eyebrows, silently judging his inaction, that it was because he wanted to be prepared. Clark even went as far as to throw Diana's own words back at her, insisting that the talk had to go well so he didn't go to Gotham looking for an ally only to end up with an enemy. Although his chances of convincing a man who guarded his city as fiercely as a dragon did its hoard that Clark was a friend, were slim.

In reality, he was doing anything he could to do avoid the Bat, and he knew that, but there was a small part of him that was beginning to overrule the nervous energy keeping him away. A small part brimming with curiosity.

There had been something insistent about his desire to learn all he could about Gotham's protector. Something that settled beneath his ribs and _pulled_. It was a sensation he'd felt before and one his Pa had called 'the trusty Kent instinct'. What had started as an avoidance tactic was rapidly spiralling into something else - to the point where Lois had commented.

"Taking this all a little seriously, don't you think Smallville?" she'd asked, sifting through a small pile of articles collected by Clark that concerned the early days of the Bat, back when reports talked of a Bat _team_ and his _partner_. One dressed in deep, dark red and forest green, who moved like he did and beat burglars with batons, smiling from beneath domino masks and behind shadows. 

_Robin_.

"It's important Lo," Clark had replied absentmindedly, eyes flickering over a blurry shot of the corner of a cape as it slipped into an alleyway. 

"I know that Clark," she'd conceded. "But you don't need to do all this research to understand the Batman - he's a simple enough vigilante."

That made the Kryptonian look up. "He is?"

"Oh yes," Lois grinned, moving closer and folding herself down until she was half perched in his lap. "He's a brute. Half of Gotham is scared to death of him, the other half wants him dead. He enjoys the bloody side of vigilantism, that's why he's been doing it so long, and honestly, he's probably half as crazy as all those clowns who try and kill him."

Lois' assessment didn't seem entirely accurate, but Clark couldn't shake the ugly, conflicted sensation the more he learned. 

Diana was right, Batman _was_ a man in a city of monsters, and it was because of that, and only that, Clark felt he could allow the acts of violence the Bat perpetrated.

Batman had villains who earned their names - men whose only love came in horror and blood. Men that couldn't be called men, not when they shed their skin and wore murder with pride. Even the Bat's most genial foe - a green clad menace named the Riddler - delighted in deathtraps. He built cages to drown the Bat, fences to electrocute him, encouraged other foes to torment him and demanded more cunning and more intelligence every time they met. And meet they did. Batman fought them again and again. He rose when they beat him down, he hit back when he needed too, he jailed them over and over and never once relented. He answered the call, always.

But when he wasn't needed to keep clowns and penguins and clay monsters in check, he turned to the humans under his charge. He rounded up gangs and left mob bosses chained up by their ankles. He deposited human traffickers, wounds gaping wide around knives, to the steps of the Gotham PD. He spent his evenings breaking bones and loosing teeth and cracking skulls hard enough into the ground to render a criminal unconscious, but beneath it all Clark could see a degree of restraint. 

The Bat was archaic and medieval and brutal and wrathful - 

But, for Gotham at least, it seemed he was necessary. 

Clark would not allow such a man in _his_ city, but then his city didn't need such a man. His city slept easy knowing that someone with otherworldly powers was _literally_ watching over them. Gotham, by contrast, pulled on a bulletproof vest before clambering beneath the bedsheets.

Clark had echoed Lois' comments to Diana, a handful of weeks after their last lunch in Paris. She'd only just returned from a successful meeting with the Aquaman - _Arthur Curry_ \- and was catching Superman up on the developments when Kal made the comment. He'd voiced, too, a persistent thought as to whether the continuous cycle of death and destruction in Gotham was testament to how ineffective Batman's methods were. 

Diana didn't agree with Lois, nor him, if her scathing reply was any indication. 

"I might recommend you try protecting Gotham for a week, alone, before you judge the actions of her Guardian, who has years of experience, Kal," she'd frowned, voice slipping just enough into sharp to be scolding, making Clark feel nine. "Many humans owe their lives to the Batman."

The comment sobered him and a begrudging respect for the Dark Knight was born. A respect later made more powerful by the files he read and the witness accounts he'd poured over.

Not that he'd admit that to anyone other than Diana. Especially not Lois, who seemed to have chosen her side about the Bat and seemed more than content to stay there. 

Batman was the only one left to talk to about their idea of a team up. Arthur had been amenable, but only after Diana promised to stop judging him for lassoing whalers and capsizing poachers' boats. He'd even expressed amusement at their potential team list when the three convened halfway down the New England coast so Arthur could formally meet Clark.

"You're going to talk to the Bat?" Arthur had laughed, looking Clark up and down as though his suit was in some way an explanation. He'd turned then to Diana. "You're sending Supes to talk to the Bat?"

"Yes," Diana had nodded. 

Arthur had grinned broadly. "Well, shit, if _you_ can convince him then I guess he'll have no problem with the rest of us." He paused before his smile seemed to grow even more. "You know he'll see you coming right?"

"Doubtful," Clark snorted, pride a little wounded at the notion.

"Oh Supes, not like that," Arthur said. "I mean the Bat will probably know everything you're going to say before you say it."

Clark was dreading it.

Flash, at least, had been easier. 

"Hell yeah I'm in," he shouted before Clark had even finished his question. "I'm honoured you even thought of me Big Blue - I'm a big fan," he'd confessed, blush tinting the parts of his cheeks visible beneath the cowl. He hadn't asked for logistics, or names, just trusted in the idea... in the team. 

Diana had informed him that Cyborg - _Victor_ \- took a little more convincing, but he was open to the prospect of a team. "Baby steps," Diana had said with a smile.

Clark realised though, Jimmy's comments echoing in his mind as he righted a stack of papers concerning a fight between the Bat and _Killer Croc_ , that he was running out of excuses to avoid the meeting.

So, two days later, when he had nothing left to distract him, he took to the skies in search of the Dark Knight, Lois' warning of _"Be safe in Gotham, Clark_ " still ringing in his ears. Three detours later - a house fire, an attempted mugging and a lost child - he found him. 

The Bat was perched on a roof, as still and solid as a gargoyle. Clark could hear his heartbeat, a steady, rhythmic thing that was almost soothing in its consistency, and the soft, quiet exhales of breath. It was startling that, even with powers, he felt as though the Bat were more otherworldly than he.

He landed silently but from the slight shift of the cape, the roll of Batman's shoulders, Clark had been noticed. 

"Batman," he greeted, wincing when his tone fell a little flat.

The vigilante turned and all Clark saw were white lenses. Blank voids where eyes should be held him in place, daring him to move. An unnerving, hollow feeling spread through his chest and he felt like a butterfly pinned to a collector's board. The Bat seemed to be judging him and weighing him up all in the same moment. Clark could practically see the man working out how best to neutralise him, how best to _stop_ him. He couldn't help but shift uncomfortably, berating himself immediately when Batman turned away. 

Superman - 0

Batman - 1

The Bat was looking out over Gotham like he could _see_. Like he knew about the man shouting at his wife, five buildings over. Like he saw the teenager spinning a gun on a table, round and round and round, like it was a game. Like he heard the rustle of plastic bags in pockets. Clark focused his senses on the two boys hurrying home, their score buried in the folds of their clothes.

"They have drugs," he informed the Bat helpfully. 

A harsh, gravelly sound was his only reply and it took Clark a moment to realise he was being laughed at.

The alien scowled and he drew himself up to his full height. "I'm Superman," he introduced - _like that wasn't obvious_ , he thought immediately. It did make Batman look at him though. Clark waited for the man to reply, but nothing came so he barrelled onwards, instantly wishing he'd written, and rehearsed, a speech. "I came to formally introduce myself. I've heard of you of course, and no doubt you've heard of me, but I thought it might be best for us to finally meet."

Silence.

"Your methods aren't good - particularly the human rights violations you seem to _enjoy_ partaking in. Even criminals have rights, Batman," he continued, not hiding the disapproval in his tone, "but I understand that going against such individuals alone and without the assistance of powers is difficult."

There was a creak as the Bat ground his teeth. Clark swallowed and continued. "You see Batman, I also came here to say that despite your medieval methods, I'd like to work with you. The world needs people to stand up and defend those who can't defend themselves - and you do that. There aren't many people doing that in the world and I think keeping in touch and keeping each other in check is the best for all of us." He was rambling, he knew it, but his mouth was still moving. "There's a couple of others I've already spoken to. I can't tell you who they are, of course, but they're happy to be allies...to pull together if the world should need us to fight something we can't handle alone, and, well, with your limitations, I thought you might appreciate the help." 

There was a split second where Clark thought the Bat might _strike_ him. His body shifted and even with a lead-lined suit, it was clear his muscles were all pulled taught. There was a moment of complete and eerie silence when Clark had to remind himself that he was _invulnerable,_ then:

"No."

Clark started, stunned by the refusal because even knowing what he knew about the Batman, that was **emphatic**. "I'm sorry, did you say _no_?" He paused, summoning up every inch of diplomacy he had and trying to clear the expressions flittering across his features. "Look Batman, I know -"

" _ **No**_ ," the Bat hissed, starting forward with such an intensity that Clark found himself taking a step back. He was an imposing figure, clad in black and metal and equipment. He towered high over him, despite appearing to be of a similar height, and eclipsed whatever light Gotham was throwing over them both. The Bat was wide, broad, _powerful_. He was feral, too. A snarling, spitting thing as he jabbed a finger towards Clark with the energy of a cornered animal. "I don't work with freaks dressed like clowns, and you can tell Flash, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Cyborg and _whoever_ you've dragged into your little club that I'm _not_ _ **interested**_."

 _Shit_. 

**He knew _._**

Arthur had been right. 

How the _hell_ did he know?

But before he could open his mouth to ask - in fact before he could even breathe out a reply - the Bat had vanished, slipping between shadows like a wrath. The Kryptonian peered into the night, and was stunned when he couldn't actually see him.

The Batman was gone. 

After he'd said no. 

He found himself flying to Diana's before he registered lifting off the Gotham rooftop, eager to leave the dark, dank city and her protector behind. 

The woman in question was sat on her veranda, sipping a glass of white wine, gazing out at the stars. "Kal," she greeted kindly when he landed beside her. It took only a moment for her to realise. "I see you spoke to the Knight."

"He said no," he spluttered, still incredulous. "And he knew us. _All_ of us. I never even said who would be involved but he just - he just named us all. And then he disappeared. Gone. I couldn't track him. It was like he just - _poof_."

Diana huffed out a breath, letting something humoured curl at the edges of her lips. "Take a seat Kal."

"You're not surprised," the alien accused, sitting with a scowl. 

The Princess offered a wry smile. "No. I did not expect him to agree."

"Then why -"

"Because the seed has been sown. He now knows who we are. He knows that we wish for him to be a part of our team. He knows what we intend and, when the time comes, he will be there, fighting beside us," she said, tone laced with confidence.

"How can you be so _sure_?"

Diana laughed brightly. "Because he's like us Kal," she explained. "He's a guardian of humanity."

**Author's Note:**

> Rights where they go, incl. to DC, Kane, Finger, Siegel and Shuster etc. etc. cos I don't own them.


End file.
